


Surely To The Sea

by ackles_likes_snackles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depressed Dean, Depression, Gen, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Twist and Shout - gabriel & standbyme, M/M, Medication, Medicine, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Old Age, POV Dean Winchester, Post-War, Suicide Attempt, Veteran Dean, Vietnam War, psychiatric ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackles_likes_snackles/pseuds/ackles_likes_snackles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He glances down at that bag of medication every now and then, gripping the steering wheel tight, his cracked, dry knuckles turning white. His eyes sting with the threat of tears spilling down his cheeks. </p>
<p>
  <i>Just a quiet, peaceful death. </i>
</p>
<p>That’s all he wants. He’s several miles out now, just going over the hill when he can start to see the familiar, crystal blue of that lake. The horizon is never-ending, and it’s near impossible to tell where the lake ends and the sky begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surely To The Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twist and Shout](https://archiveofourown.org/works/537876) by [gabriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriel/pseuds/gabriel), [standbyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/standbyme/pseuds/standbyme). 



Dean had grown old and gray long after Cas's passing. Now he’s 67, he’s been through hell, he lives alone in a crappy apartment in a neighborhood he doesn’t like because he can’t afford otherwise, and he just doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care to keep fighting. He lacks any respect for himself, as if he ever had much to begin with.

One morning he’s driving down that familiar county road, his medication in the passenger seat, heading down to the lake. The lake that he hasn’t visited in decades. He hopes it hasn’t changed much. He glances down at that bag of medication every now and then, gripping the steering wheel tight, his cracked, dry knuckles turning white. His eyes sting with the threat of tears spilling down his cheeks. 

_Just a quiet, peaceful death._

That’s all he wants. He’s several miles out now, just going over the hill when he can start to see the familiar, crystal blue of that lake. The horizon is never-ending, and it’s near impossible to tell where the lake ends and the sky begins. 

_It’s quiet. Peaceful. Just the way I want it._

Memories begin to flood to the front of his mind. He can almost see Cas standing there on the beach again. It’s blurry and his back is turned, but he knows it’s Cas. It always was. He doesn’t realize he’d started crying until he’s jolted back into the present by the sound of sirens. The loud thumping of his increasingly rapid heart rate is pounding in his ears as he pulls over. His mind feels completely separate from his body, trapped behind a fog that won’t clear. 

It’s not until later in the Emergency Room that he starts to grasp what’s happening. Somehow, the local police had gotten word of his intended suicide attempt and caught up with him. They want to send him to the VA. 

_Like hell I’m going back to the VA!_

They treat every veteran like shit there, and he refuses to go back. They’d never be able to get him there alive if they were just going to dump him there and simply forget about him. Just because he’s the stubborn jackass he is, they get him a bed upstairs in the Psychiatric Ward. Has to wait until morning though, he’s told. Has to wait until another patient is discharged. 

They take away his cane and give him a walker to use instead, because it’s “considered to be a weapon.” 

_This thing could be considered a weapon, too if I just beat you over the head with it._

He’s put on a 72-hour hold and kept under high security watch because of the reason he was brought here in the first place. 

_Can’t even take a shit in this place without somebody watching me._

To say he’s not happy to be here is an understatement. Sure he has self-destructive thoughts and feelings, but those, he’s used to. He tries to reason and bargain with the nurses. Promises he doesn’t want to hurt himself anymore, that he just wants to go home. He’ll lose his apartment if they don’t let him out. 

They don’t let him out. Not yet. He has to admit, while he hates being locked up, the food is pretty damn good. Better than anything the VA ever had. And they give you a lot, too. Three, big meals a day. Not one patient here complains of the food. He eats like a pig and talks a lot to the other patients. It’s a way to mask the anxiety, to keep it under wraps. 

There are a few older patients there, a couple middle-aged, a 21-year-old, and three 19-year-olds. 

_God, they’re just kids._

Like Adam was. They’re all just babies. His heart breaks to see such young people to be going through such turmoil. And they’re good kids, too. They’ve got good hearts. He’s the oldest one there, and the kids help him at every opportunity. They show respect, thank him for his service, and even help him with his food tray.

He hasn’t felt this appreciated and respected in…God, he doesn’t even know how long. He just wants these kids feeling better; they’ve got everything to live for. But him. He sees himself as a lost cause. He’s old, he’s done his time. 

He’s taken by one young lady who’d already been there a few days before him. He tells her some of his stories, and she listens. They watch TV together and he provides the commentary. She’s kind and gracious and pretty. It breaks his heart to know she’s in here at such a young age for hurting the way she does. The way _he_ does.

He gets through day by day, goes to group therapy, cooperates like they tell him to. They have to remind him to use the walker, though. He _hates_ that thing. Most of the time he just drags it behind him or carries it, because he’s so sick of it. He’s not _completely_ helpless, you know. 

He sees the doctor everyday, and everyday he asks the same thing. _When can I go home?_ But they want to commit him. He won’t have it, no, they can’t do that to him. Some woman comes down to the hospital, sits in on a meeting with the doctor, and talks about committing him. It isn’t until she finally looks at his papers that she realizes they _can’t_ commit him due to the fact that he’s from out of state. 

At that, he feels happy, almost like he’s one a race. Hasn’t had that feeling in decades. 

_Ha. These dickheads can’t keep me here._

He tells the young lady he’s going home, and she’s happy for him. She tells him to stay safe, to take care of himself, and he tells her to get out of here and go back to school. In the four days he’s been here, they’ve discovered they’re both from the same area, just a town apart. He asks to keep in touch, and she agrees. 

It’s a cold, winter morning when he’s finally let out. The roads are icy, but he can’t wait another day to drive back home. He makes it back safe and doesn’t make any attempt to hurt himself again. Now, it’s more or less just a general feeling of defeat. If he couldn’t succeed at taking his own life, maybe he’d just leave it up to fate. He just doesn’t have the fight in him anymore. He fought for as long as he could, keeping his promise to Cas. But the fight’s gone. 

So he sits alone in his apartment, isolating himself from the sketchy neighborhood drunks. The VA has a flag on him for suicide watch, so he’s careful to always answer his phone when it rings. They make him see a psychiatrist often, but they’re so damn slow at filling his med prescription anyway, what's the point? 

Sometimes he goes out, maybe to gamble, maybe to drink. But mostly, he’s here alone in his apartment. And one day, he’ll leave this earth to be with his Cas. He thinks about that a lot now…he has ever since he got out of the hospital. He’s more than made his peace with death, usually seeing it as a release. But now…now he sometimes thinks there could be more after all this. And maybe it could be good again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by an actual Vietnam veteran who came into the mental hospital while I was there. And man, did he ever have stories. I got a phone call from him today, asking how I was doing and we talked for a while. This man has been through hell, and I’m happy to know he’s safe. I couldn’t help myself but to think of Twist and Shout when I learned he was a gay Vietnam vet. I’ve met the t&s version of Dean Winchester, and this little writing here is the result of my experience with him.


End file.
